A mountain, by the name of Cavour, rises, like a rock-island, solitarily from this misty ocean in the midst of the plain. The beautiful, wooded valleys resemble a peaceful haven, from which one gazes forth upon the ocean, whose storms do not disturb its repose. Ah! but it has frequently been otherwise: these valleys were frequently, instead of calm havens, homes for bloody persecutions and strifes, yet were they at the same time glorious witnesses of the strength of faith and patience, of the victory of the light—of the light which shines in darkness. Lux lucet in Tenebris, has been, from the most ancient times, the motto in the church of the Waldenses; it surrounds the candlestick which is engraved on its seal.
How much have I liked and enjoyed since my arrival here, during my rambles in these lonely valleys, and in my intercourse with their inhabitants, as well peasants as of the more educated classes! Foremost amongst the latter, I must mention the evangelical preacher, M. Meille, minister of the new Waldenses church of Turin, but who, with his family, have their summer home in the valleys; a man of Italian grace, both in language and manner, who has the warmest affection for the dales-people and their doctrines, and the most beautiful gifts, both as a teacher and preacher; and Louise Appia, the superintendent of the girl-schools in the valleys, a noble, amiable woman, and a remarkable teacher. Upon the benches of her crowded schools, one sees the peasant's daughter and the descendant of the doges of Venice, sitting side by side, participant of the same learning, and the same affectionately earnest, maternal care. Through these esti-
